


Marionette

by Gemichin



Category: NG (Visual Novel)
Genre: Akira and Seiji are gay I don't know what to say, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24520072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemichin/pseuds/Gemichin
Summary: Akira takes a long, hard look at his relationship with his best friend and begins to wonder... When did he start playing the role of puppeteer?
Relationships: Amanome Seiji & Kijima Akira, Amanome Seiji/Kijima Akira
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	1. The way he smiled

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone even read NG fics anymore? Heh.

A doll on strings, something to be controlled by the slightest of movements from his fingers. There was an exhilaration that bubbled whenever he thought about how the heir to the entire Amanome family was so firmly tied beneath his palms.

Amanome was a disaster wrapped up in a pretty face. The calmness of his smile hid demons that would terrify even the most powerful of influential persons. Despite his young age, he had a copious number of higher political powers in his back pocket. Akira had learned early on that Amanome was a person who thrived off the fear of others. However, that had never meant anything to Akira and for some reason unknown to him, it drew Amanome to him like a magnet rather than pushed him away. He didn’t question it much when they were children, simply considering Amanome to be weird but never looking beyond that face valued assumption. It wasn’t until their first year of high school and having watched the number of backhanded dealings that he’d become so quickly skilled in that Akira dared to ask him why he still stuck around him. He’d never forget the genuine puzzlement that Amanome’s face at the inquiry, the catch in his voice when he exhaled the audible _“hah?”_ in curious response.

“What do you mean why? We’re friends, obviously.”

There were plenty of moments where Amanome had drawn out the desire from Akira to just punch him in the face and that had simply been another added to the list. The glare Akira had given him had been his warning.

“Asshole… That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

A moment of silence had followed until Amanome exhaled, a laugh following suit as he leaned back against the side of his bed.

“Probably because I can’t phase you.”

Akira didn’t respond, but the raise of his eyebrow prompted Amanome to continue.

“People bend to me with even the most minute threat. They just have to hear my name and they cower but you… Heh, you did the exact opposite. Do you remember?”

Akira had been silent for a moment, something that Amanome knew meant he didn’t remember at all. It caused him to laugh again, the resulting scowl on Akira’s face keeping the smile on Amanome’s.

“Of course you wouldn’t. Insignificant things never stay with you for long. I guess that could be another reason why I stick around you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Amanome hummed, clearly trying to dodge giving the real answer Akira was looking for. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him; he’d usually allow Amanome to avoid speaking on something he didn’t want to. However, when it came to matters Akira truly wanted an answer to, Amanome most often always gave in.

This was one of those times.

After an exasperated sigh, Amanome’s head fell back against the bed, looking towards the ceiling.

“You punched me. Hard. Called me a coward for hiding behind a name that doesn’t hold any real value. I’d never had that happen to me and some part of me absolutely hated you for it.”

Akira’s silence spurred Amanome to continue.

“To think I could be so insulted. I could have done everything in my power to bring down the wrath of hell on you. But looking at you in that moment, seeing that there wasn’t even a single bit of fear in your eyes, it was… Invigorating. I found it… To be like an adrenaline rush.”

“Are you insane?”

“Ha ha… Maybe. We were just children then. I felt like I wanted to stay with you and so I did. Satisfied now?”

There was more to the story that Amanome was keeping hidden, but Akira had found his answer to be enough, thus he had let it go. Beyond that, Akira never took to questioning Amanome’s reasons for staying with him. By that point, it had simply become a natural thing, having the Yakuza heir at his side.

There was something that kept ringing in the back of Akira’s mind, however, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. It rang whenever Amanome held one of the Underground Matches Akira had become so famous in. He wasn’t sure the reasons, or if he was just imagining it, but every single time he won a match and his gaze fell onto the heir…

Amanome would be blushing.

Akira would push it away from his thoughts, more focused on the repetition of the winning ceremonies that would end with his prize money being delivered in hand, but as it continually happened, he began to think about it more. By the time the two of them had reached their third year of high school and Akira had been considering quitting the Underground Matches, he would subconsciously find himself searching for Amanome after every victory. That expression on his face: the soft tinge of pink on his cheeks, the small smile that just gently curved the edges of his mouth and the light glistening in his eyes as he watched Akira’s every movement… Amanome was the picture of euphoria, as if he had been the one who had won each match himself.

That wasn’t right. No, that wasn’t it.

Akira had mused over it countless times, each time wondering just what it was Amanome was thinking whenever Akira won a match and he was found to have the exact same expression every time their eyes met. That thought only became louder in the back of his mind when Akira brought up his intentions of quitting the Underground Match. Aside from the obvious disappointment at the idea of losing his main source of revenue in the tournaments, Akira had keyed in on something hidden behind Amanome’s eyes. Masking it over almost immediately, Amanome had silenced himself before the words spilled out of his mouth too quickly.

Akira didn’t attempt to press it, knowing that it was something that Amanome wouldn’t budge on no matter how many attempts at yanking it out of him Akira made. It wasn’t like he wanted to drag out the topic any further; he had already made up his mind and whatever it was Amanome didn’t want to tell him, Akira likely didn’t want to hear it if it served as a means to make him reconsider. It had been Amanome who had gotten Akira into the world of the Underground Matches with the promise that he would be able to leave it whenever he wished and Akira had made good on the promise kept. However, there had been something that continually drove Akira to keep going, match after match. Aside from the security that came from the cash flow and the stress relief it provided over the years, it had been Amanome’s expression each time Akira looked at him after a victory that urged him to go on.

One more fight, one more win.

One more time Amanome smiled.


	2. The way he laughed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we met...

Seiji knew Akira Kijima like the back of his hand.

He was the one person who he couldn’t control, the one person that had whatever threat he made roll off his back like water. They were oil and water, never able to mix yet somehow always together.

They’d met in grade school, just mere children on a playground yet Akira was the boy no one wanted to talk to, something that Seiji figured suited him just fine. He sat in the back of the classroom, never speaking to anyone. Bullying attempts made by their classmates resulted in bloody noses and bruises, Akira having gotten into his fair share of fights even as an eight year old.

Perhaps that was the start of the reason why he liked him.

It didn’t matter who it was, Akira would pick a fight with a brick wall if he deemed it desirable. More than that… Akira always won. Seiji could remember going home from school one day just to happen across his silent classmate cornered by a few upperclassmen. Who would even think to pick on a grade schooler when you were that old? Seiji found it pathetic, yet took no motion to intervene rather than just watch.

He was curious.

Whatever words were exchanged, he couldn’t remember, yet he would never forget the speed in which Akira had them on the ground. Writhing with muttered curses and spatters of blood on the concrete walls of the alleyway between the schools they’d encased him in, it had turned in Akira’s favour when he took to grabbing one of the upperclassmen and bashing his head against the wall before dropping him to the ground. Seiji had briefly wondered if he had killed the kid, yet seeing the highschooler twitch and heave for air proved that Akira had enough control to keep himself restrained in some aspect.

Seiji had found it interesting but the fight had ended before it really could even begin, so he deemed it boring. However, before he could even move to start to walk away, Akira looked up.

Their eyes met.

It was like making a deal with the devil himself, Seiji remaining motionless as his classmate stalked towards him. Seiji wasn’t worried at the time, he was the son of the Yakuza… What more, the son of the head of the Yakuza. Surely this brat wouldn’t think to attack _him_ too. It would be a death sentence even for a child the same age as him. Everyone in their school knew of that fact, thus Seiji had been quite comfortable in his class surrounded by his peers who would have licked the bottom of his shoe should he have given the order.

With those thoughts in mind, Seiji stood still when Akira approached him. He felt himself smile smugly until Akira had grabbed his shirt collar and glared at him.

“The fuck are you looking at? Got a problem with me too?”

Seiji had chuckled, shrugging off his classmate’s grip on his shirt before straightening it out. Really… They were kids, should he really be using that type of language? His father would have his head if he had heard him talking like that.

“You don’t need to get mad, I was going home and just happened to see you with those upperclassmen. Fighting kids way older than us, you’re crazy aren't you. Ugh… You got my shirt dirty with that gross blood on your hands.”

If it had been any other kid ( or adult for that matter ) he’d said this to, they would have been panicking immediately and begging for forgiveness. Akira, however, seemed two steps slower than the rest and it irritated Seiji when his normally silent classmate clicked his tongue.

“So what, it’ll wash out.”

That was unheard of in Seiji’s book and a spark of anger coursed through his veins. The usually calm demeanor which he’d been instilled with cracked and he scowled, grabbing Akira’s arm firmly. No one dared to speak to the Amanome family heir in such a manner and walk freely and Seiji certainly wasn’t about to let it start with this brat.

“Excuse me, what did you just say? Do you forget who you’re talking to-”

Seiji hadn’t been able to finish the sentence before he caught a blur of movement in his peripherals and before he could blink, pain surged through his skull upon a blunt impact to the side of his face that knocked him off his feet to the ground. His cheek stung so bad he felt it might have been broken, his palm cradling it as softly as it could with stars dancing in his vision before dispersing after what felt like forever. Looking up, he found that Akira was standing over him, his hand still balled into the fist he’d struck him with and Seiji heard himself yelling before he could even stop himself.

“The hell is wrong with you?! Do you know who I am?! My dad is-”

Nothing could have prepared the Amanome family heir for the look of disgust that crossed his usually silent classmate’s face, his words catching in his throat before he could finish speaking. Where he was used to fear, there was none on Akira’s face to be found. Instead, fury boiled behind those cold eyes of his and it startled Seiji so much he lost whatever threat he had on his tongue.

“Amanome, right? You’re the brat of some Yakuza. As if I give a shit… What, gonna go tell daddy that you got punched? Hide behind your name like the coward you are?”

Seiji had never heard such words spoken, let alone to someone like him. It struck him harder than the fist Akira had punched him with. It left him stunned, sitting on the pavement staring up at the boy who’d assaulted him wide eyed, unable to give any sort of retort as he gazed up into that anger filled expression in a pain induced haze. He heard his classmate click his tongue again, remained dazed and transfixed on the rage on Akira’s face as he glared down at him.

“You’re trash, Amanome. I don’t care who you are, or your name. Fuck off.”

Seiji couldn’t even get a word out, he merely sat on the pavement while watching his classmate walk off, leaving him there. Thinking back on it, he could remember getting up, staring wordlessly at where Akira had left him for a long while after Akira had left before finally leaving and going home. His father had had a fit at seeing how messed up he was, demanding to know who had attacked him and yet Seiji wouldn’t tell him.

It was an accident, he claimed, a result of having tripped and fallen. His fault for being careless. It was only after that assurance that his father had left it alone and instructed him to be more careful. It wouldn’t do for the Amanome family heir to be graceless.

Seiji had gone up to his room after the lecture his father had dragged onto him, he could remember dropping his bag on the floor and going to his washroom to clean his face. No doubt there would be a nasty bruise there alongside the cuts from having hit the pavement as hard as he had. However, when he walked up to the mirror, before he could even turn the water on, Seiji took a look at himself and he was minutely shocked at his reflection staring back at him. More than the sickening shades of purple and green discoloration on his skin from the early stage of the bruise he already knew was coming, more than the red streaks where he’d scraped his cheek on the sidewalk when he fell…

Seiji was smiling.

Upon that realisation, Seiji started laughing. Earnest and full from his stomach out, he broke into laughter. He laughed so hard it hurt, tears stinging his eyes and spilling down his cheeks, salt mixing with the wounds on his face that already ached. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, gasping for air between the snickers and giggles that just kept spilling out of his throat unbidden. It was a sensation he’d never known he could have, nothing had ever amused him in a manner like this.

He was so amused he felt intoxicated, drunk off the pain in his head, the pain from the scrapes on his skin and the bruise on his cheek. All of this was because of Akira Kijima. He smiled so much his face hurt, he went to bed smiling and he woke up smiling. His jaw ached from it and yet he just couldn’t stop.

That morning, his father asked if he wanted to stay home from school since he still looked quite the mess. It wouldn’t do for the heir to look as shoddy as he did in public. Yet Seiji shook his head, answered earnestly that he wanted to go to school that day no matter what. Perhaps it was because of the smile still plastered so concretely on his lips, his father didn’t push the issue and merely told him to be careful. Seiji left for school that morning in a state of euphoria, looking at everything as if he had seen it for the first time, looked at everything with that painful smile that hadn’t left him since the day before. The looks of people passing him by went entirely ignored, surely they were looking at the bandage on his cheek and the scrapes that had been cleaned up yet Seiji cared absolutely none about it.

His heart skipped a beat entirely when he reached the school gates, noticing the head of oddly familiarly messy black hair that would never escape his eyes again. It was as if he saw the world in technicolour, all too eager to wave his arm and call out to his silent classmate as he jogged up to him at the school entrance. Akira turned to look at him, his expression unchanging if not for the slight twinge of annoyance that made the edges of his mouth curl downward when their eyes met.

“What do you want now.”

Why had he only now begun to notice the way Akira spoke? How interesting it was, that tone in his voice only served to cause that jaw aching smile to break out on Seiji’s face in full earnest.

“Good morning, Kijima.”

“What?”

“I said, good morning!”

Seiji wouldn’t doubt the look of confusion on Akira’s face, his vision was rather dazzled. Yet it didn’t deter him in the slightest, even when his stoic classmate looked around to find the copious number of other children gawking at them before they ducked their heads and sped into the school. Akira’s brows furrowed, looking back at Seiji with disdain pursing his lips.

“Why are you talking to me.”

Seiji could feel that laughter bubbling from his stomach again, euphoria catching in his throat and his smile only widened despite how softly his eyes gazed upon his classmate.

“I like you, Kijima.”


	3. The way he stared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does he see with those eyes...?

It was in middle school when Amanome first approached him with the idea of joining the Underground Matches. Akira had heard about them a few times from his self proclaimed best friend, knowing quite well that Amanome was attempting to coerce him into accepting the subtle offers. What he wouldn’t admit to, however, was the fact that his coercion was working. The idea of being able to beat the brakes off some stranger who was haughty enough to think he could win against him was growing more appealing the more Amanome droned on about it.

However, there were two reasons that kept Akira hesitating about agreeing. For one, it was extraordinarily illegal. In hindsight, that didn’t bother Akira in the slightest. However, his mother was already having a difficult time holding down a job and should he have gotten caught in such illegal dealings, she would have an even worse time getting hired anywhere. Even with the promise of a consistent cash flow whether he won or lost, Akira had already been annoyed enough with police breathing down his neck given the number of fights he’d gotten into on the streets alone. He had a record and while he personally didn’t give it even a single thought, his mother did.

The other reason was his small cousin, Ami. Since his mother and her sister were close, Akira was pulled along whenever they went to visit. Ami had been just a young thing then, only six years old. She was a smart little tyke; however, Ami had taken almost an immediate liking to Akira. She’d always look up at him with wide, innocent eyes and was never afraid of him. Akira found it vexing, but he always caved when it came to things she wanted. While he grimaced whenever it was commented on, he never could say no to her whims. When asked about it or even teased by Aunt Natsumi, his excuse was that it would be more of a pain if she started crying.

However, his breaking point came when he had been told that he needed to be removed from school due to his mother not being able to pay his tuition. He had been in class that day, his second year of middle school, when the school advisor came into his homeroom and pulled him into the hallway. He could barely remember what had been told to him because his ears had started ringing upon the mention of his mother failing to do something as simple as keep up such a minor payment. In his eyes, everything had blurred and was tinged red at the edges. His heartbeat was panicked and it pounded so loud in his ears that the ringing was all but drowned out completely.

Yet he couldn’t claim the feeling that burned in his stomach as sadness.

It was pure anger.

School had been the one place where he found escape from everything that suffocated him at home. While his grades were passable at best and hardly anyone spoke to him save for Amanome, it gave him more of a reprieve than anything else. He felt calm there, even with the disputes he often got involved in despite how he instigated very few of them in contrast to his days in elementary.

Everything came crashing down at once and words got stuck in his throat to where he hadn’t even been able to respond to the advisor who took his silence as grief. He had been offered to go home and he had taken up that offer as fury boiled in his veins, his tunnel vision focused on demanding answers from his mother. Amanome had rushed out to meet him before he even reached the entry gate to the school.

“Akira!”

Akira had paused yet made no motion to turn around or even address his friend, flinching when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. There was worry soaked in Amanome’s tone, but it fell on Akira’s ears as nothing more than a whisper.

“Hey, I know you’re not alright, but where are you goi-”

Amanome had never been able to dodge Akira’s fists whenever they flung at him but Akira’s brain was too muddled to focus straight, thoughts crashing into each other one after the other thus when he swung his fist, Amanome had a split second to stumble back a step or two out of his reach.

“Woah! Akira, what the hell!”

Akira’s head was buzzing, his eyes raising to meet Amanome’s gaze as his breathing became more and more erratic. He felt dizzy, unfocused and Amanome was the only thing he was able to make out amongst the haze in his vision.

“A… Amanome…”

His voice choked in his throat, cracking when he spoke and his skin buzzed when Amanome took a step in and grabbed him by the arms. He stumbled at the touch, Amanome’s grip firm to keep him steady and on his feet. At the close proximity, Akira could see Amanome’s brow furrowed in concern, his lips pursed tight as a few beads of sweat rolled from his temples. He felt Amanome’s palms on his arms, damp yet never lightening their grasp and the touch grounded him to some degree, giving him something other than the screams in his head to concentrate on.

Akira knew that Amanome wouldn’t leave him alone in this sort of situation, whether he wanted him to or not. Beating him up wouldn’t do him any good either, it wouldn’t change anything.

He was still reeling.

“Oi, Akira, take a deep breath, you’re having a panic attack!”

It took Amanome telling him that for Akira to realise that he was right. It made sense now: the sensation of not being able to get a full breath into his lungs, the pounding in his head, the instability he felt in his legs… He couldn’t focus and it was driving him crazy.

Lurching forward, he took a strong hold on Amanome’s arms, so much that Amanome cursed from the painful grip.

“Akira…!”

He couldn’t loosen his grip, Amanome would just have to deal with it. There was something Akira needed, and Amanome was the only one who could grant it to him.

“Amanome… The Underground Match.”

“Hah--? You’re asking me about that now?!”

“Shut up…! Just… Take me there.”

“Akira have you lost your mind?!”

“Shut the hell up!!”

His grip on Amanome’s arms tightened, white knuckled and bruising against the pale skin of his friend’s forearms and Amanome’s teeth grit hard.

“I got it… I got it! Let go already!”

Using his bodyweight as much as he could manage, Amanome shoved Akira off of him, gingerly placing his hands on his arms where Akira had gripped him. No doubt there’d be bruises from just the strength of his hold but Amanome shook his head. Akira stumbled back, finding balance in his stance and he looked up to find Amanome staring at him. His expression was serious, arms crossed.

“I’ll take you… But Akira... It’s not a death match.”

Akira understood that much but the more Amanome hesitated, the more he looked like an ideal punching bag himself and Akira wasn’t about to spill blood on school grounds. He’d already done that enough times.

Nodding slowly in response, Amanome waited for a moment more to see if Akira truly understood before exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Letting his hand fall to his sides, Amanome canted his head, motioning for Akira to follow him.

His steps were unsteady, the weight of the panic attack he hadn’t exactly gotten over dragging his feet as he followed Amanome down the street. Akira wasn’t paying any attention whatsoever to the direction in which they were walking, his thoughts growing louder in his head since he had lost his sense of focus that was Amanome’s eyes on him. The only thing he could convince himself of was that he needed to stay behind Amanome so as not to lose where he was going. The thought of how long they’d been walking was lost to him, the only notion of how far they were actually going came only when Akira followed Amanome off the train at a station near Amanome's house he didn’t remember having gotten on. And yet still, they kept walking.

“Oi, Amanome…”

Amanome cut him off by holding a hand up, casting a glance over his shoulder. On his lips, there was a smirk.

“Almost there.”

Silenced by the assurance, Akira followed behind him more closely. Walking into a rather wide alleyway lit by numerous neon signs lining the walls, shuttered windows and barred doors with concrete walls painted in rather boisterous displays of graffiti told Akira exactly where he was.

The red light district.

He had never actually been here himself, but Amanome knew this area better than anyone. The Amanome family held a rather strong grip on the district and the areas surrounding it, having gotten it under control to a manageable degree that the police force never would have been able to achieve. Akira couldn’t keep from looking around, minute curiosity having his eyes dart back and forth to take in where they were walking. Amanome, however, walked casually, his hands in his pockets with his back straight with a proud stride in his step. No doubt he was smiling, Akira knew that much. This was his territory, and those who frequented the district knew it well. Akira saw how the people who were on the streets looked at him.

Amanome had everyone here under his heel and he knew it.

Akira wondered minutely just how far the district reached, let alone where the Underground Matches took place. Stalking behind Amanome wasn’t easing him any, and he felt the dampness of sweat on his back. He was ready to grab Amanome’s shoulder to ask him how much longer he planned on making him walk when Amanome stopped walking entirely. Looking back at Akira, Amanome pointed down a side alleyway cast in shadows.

“This way. We’re almost there.”

Following close behind him, the alleyway was much smaller than the main part of the district. Weaving and bending, Akira felt as if he were in a maze with how many turns Amanome led him through. He supposed it made sense. The Underground Match wasn’t exactly meant to be found easily. It was only for those who lived in the city’s underbelly, invited or participants. It had shocked him a little bit when Amanome told him just how many people partook in it or were patrons of it. The sponsor list would have the entire public eye shaken to its core. Those with money really had their sick interests, he supposed.

The more they walked, the more Akira’s mind had settled somewhat, and the more he was starting to wonder if he really wanted to get involved in it as he had first demanded. However, what stopped him from changing his mind entirely was the simple fact that he had wanted to do this for a long time. Probably ever since Amanome had brought it up to him. While he loved his mother, she was a limitation he could no longer afford to have. He had made up his mind.

He was going to leave.

The worries of losing their home or having food on the table… Somehow letting all of that go gave him a sense of freedom, letting those worries slip away with each step he took. He could fade into the shadows this way. Aunt Natsumi could take care of his mother, they were close sisters after all. Ami was still a young thing and Akira was certain she would forget him with time.

With this, he could finally start living.

While Amanome led Akira further into the shadow filled bends and turns that led them closer to their destination, Akira was already creating a checklist in his mind. His first thought was to pay whatever school funds that had been shorted and find an apartment. He wasn’t picky, anywhere would do so long as it was cheap and they didn’t ask questions about his age. Amanome could probably help with that if he really needed it.

Akira determined that how this match went would dictate what he did afterwards. But he was certain he would win.

No matter what.

“Amanome, how much farther?”

He heard Amanome chuckle, yet he didn’t turn around.

“You sound eager.”

“Shut it.”

Another laugh.

“At least you sound calmer now… You look better now too. The colour is back in your face.”

A glance up had his eyes meeting with Amanome’s, the two of them having reached a wider alleyway that was illuminated by the dying lights of a stairwell that seemed to lead to a train station underground. Amanome had stopped walking, his attention entirely on Akira and his expression sent a buzz sparking through his nerves.

Amanome was staring, looking for something specific.

Akira met his stare, sticking his hands in his pockets as Amanome approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. Akira wasn’t entirely certain, but he thought he felt Amanome’s hand tremble.

“Just remember, Akira… This isn’t a death match.”

Akira was about to offer a retort, his mouth opening yet the words caught in his throat when he felt Amanome squeeze his shoulder. He blinked, stayed silent even as the Yakuza heir leaned in, moving close to his ear to whisper so listening ears that Akira couldn’t see didn’t hear them.

“Whenever you want to stop… I promise I won’t let anything get in your way. I promise that you can leave the UG Match anytime you want.”

With that, Amanome backed up, dropping his hands to his sides and Akira would have asked him what he meant by that, but Amanome was looking at the ground. His eyes seemed dim, unfocused and his lips were drawn thin. He looked as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to say it, thus Akira dropped the subject.

“Yeah… I got it.”

With that resolve, Amanome nodded and turned to the dingy stairwell.

“Alright then, this is the place. Not much to look at from the outside but… Well, don’t judge a book by its cover, as they always say.”

Akira didn’t reply and followed Akira down to a subway hall that was just as dim and dingy as the stairwell. Only the sound of their footsteps could be heard and AKira wondered if this was more for appearances than anything else. From what Amanome had said of the UG Matches, it was something of a public secret. The money that poured in both from the sponsors of the events and the patrons who gave a seemingly endless supply of bets alone were more than enough to have kept it running for as long as it had been with no threat of ending anytime soon.

Akira figured that would suit him just fine. If he did well with his winnings then he could save up enough to make a decent living without needing to rely on anyone else.

He was tired of having to rely on others. It had done nothing for him other than bring him misery and anger.

Amanome had been silent during their trek down the deserted subway hall, Akira finding a sort of peace in the quiet and the irregular sound of their footsteps. Glancing up, Akira watched as the two of them were approaching upon a heavy steel door at the end of the hallway. Akira could tell that it was heavily bolted from the inside just by looking at it, the door looking rather well maintained in comparison to the hallway they’d walked through. It stood out blatantly but he supposed an underground gathering of this calibre would need that type of heavy security.

Amanome approached the door with little a care in the world, obvious that he had done this for a while now, even with him being only fourteen. Akira stayed quiet beside Amanome as the Yakuza heir raised a fist and banged only once on the door. At the top of the door, a bit higher than eye level, a thick slot rattled and opened. The person on the other door seemed about ready to say something, yet the word caught in their throat when they took one look at Amanome.

Of course; Akira couldn’t help the thought from crossing his mind.

The slot rattled close and they could hear the bolts from the steel door unlock, echoing down the subway’s walls before the door opened smoothly. Akira watched as Amanome turned to him with a pleasant smile on his face, perhaps a bit too comfortable for where they were yet Akira followed him when Amanome motioned for him to. Walking through the door, Akira looked at the supposed bouncer standing away from them, their back straight as if they were saluting Amanome’s entrance.

How like him.

The door led to a dark hallway, posters pasted onto the walls so thick they covered each other up. Various announcements from over the years of events at the UG Match, some so outdated that the posters were fading with age. Akira glanced around at them before turning back to Amanome when he heard him chuckle.

“We don’t take the posters down, it feels more… Rustic, that way.”

Rustic wouldn’t have been the word Akira would have used, but he chose not to argue as the two of them continued down the hallway to a line of rooms. The hallway reminded him of the back rooms of the few clubs he’d been to, what with the familiar black paint on the walls with posters pinned up haphazardly. Akira had only been to the select few of them with Amanome, mostly whenever the Yakuza heir wanted him to play ‘bodyguard’ for some boring interaction Akira never cared to pay attention to.

Akira wouldn’t say he was impressed with the network Amanome had already built despite them only being in their second year of middle school. He would rather say that he had been correct in his assumption that Amanome was a little off his rocker. He had garnered the nickname “the prince of threats” not long after Akira had gotten to know his self proclaimed best friend a little more, much to his chagrin. Amanome held no remorse for those he’d shoved under his heel, either. He had always held his pride and Akira had only seen it get bigger as he spent more and more time with the Yakuza heir.

The only exception, according to Amanome, was him.

Akira didn’t question it more for the fact that he didn’t care rather than not wanting to pry. Amanome’s reasons were his own.

Once the two of them had reached the end of the hallway, the faint sound of something banging repeatedly reached Akira’s sharp ears. Turning his head, Akira could hear what sounded like a cacophony of cheers and screams through the walls, heavily muted by the concrete that surrounded them. Hearing Amanome chuckle, Akira turned to look at him and found his companion staring at him.

“You look eager. Raring to go already?”

Akira scoffed, shifting his bag on his shoulder.

“The hell am I supposed to do anyway?”

Amanome hummed, turning away to open the door in front of him and stepping aside to let Akira pass him.

“That’s pretty obvious. Win.”

Passing Amanome with a disgruntled exhale, Akira walked into the room to find that it was a rather well used and worn locker room. The metal lockers that lined the walls were dented and discoloured from the multitude of uses and the wooden benches in the center were splintered, their once vibrant finish now dark with no one having bothered to restore their luster. Akira set his bag down on one of the benches before taking a seat and looking up at Amanome. Amanome smiled, needed no prodding in explaining himself as he pointed to his bag.

“You have a spare change of clothes, right? It wouldn’t be good to get your school uniform dirty. You can change here and keep your bag in a locker. Don’t worry about your belongings, no one would dare mess with them here.”

The smile that graced Amanome’s lips hinted at unspoken threats, ones that Akira didn’t dare ask about in regard to who they were directed towards. Instead he hummed, turned away from Amanome and proceeded to open his bag. Standing up from the bench, he began to unbutton his shirt when a choked sound from the doorway gave him pause and he turned to find a rather flustered looking Amanome who had stumbled back a step or two. Raising an eyebrow, Akira stared at him even when Amanome had turned away from his questioning gaze.

“What?”

The annoyance in his tone was biting, yet Amanome didn’t turn in his direction.

“N-Nothing… You just… Surprised me, is all.”

The answer did nothing to appease Akira, an even stronger irritation coating his voice when he exhaled an aggravated “hah?” as anger painted his face. Amanome, however, gave no reply as he kept his stare focused elsewhere, thus Akira merely scoffed and continued to undress. Finishing unbuttoning his shirt, Akira slid it off his shoulders before opening his bag and folding it up to put away. Out of his peripheral vision, Akira could see Amanome fidget and move and Akira suddenly had the feelings that Amanome’s eyes were on his back. Deciding not to comment on it, Akira instead focused on changing out of his uniform into the grungy pair of comfortable street clothes he always carried with him. A simple black shirt that was torn in a few places from wear and fights alike and dirtied cargo pants held up by an old belt, Akira felt the most comfortable in these clothes as well as the dark red hoodie he always wore along with the pair of black leather gloves Amanome had gifted him one year for Christmas. Clenching and unclenching his fists once he had put his gloves on, Akira turned to Amanome only to be forced to pause once more when their eyes met.

Amanome had indeed been staring at him. Intently.

Akira would have demanded to know what his deal was, however there was a softness on Amanome’s face that caused the words to get stuck in his throat. Instead, Akira straightened up, keeping his gaze on his self proclaimed best friend and Amanome followed his eyes.

“So all I have to do is win, huh? Just how good is the prize money anyway?”

Amanome smiled, a devious upturn of his lips that he traced with his finger and Akira couldn’t help but think that it was a good look on him.

“I assure you that the payout is well worth the effort, Akira. Just the prize money for your first win alone will be able to sustain you for quite some time and once you make your name known and start reeling in bets, you’ll make even more.”

“You sound so confident.”

Amanome chuckled, that smile still stuck to his lips. Now that Akira thought about it, it reminded him of the smile that Amanome had plastered to his face when they first truly started sticking around each other as children.

“Why do you think we’ve been doing these matches for so long? They’ve been holding these matches since before I was born. It’s a massive source of income thanks to its popularity. Plus…”

Amanome’s eyes narrowed with a tinge of pleasure glinted in his irises, his smile curling as it pinpointed at Akira that sent a strange tingling sensation slithering along his spine. As strange as it was, however, Akira couldn’t call it uncomfortable.

Quite the opposite, actually, as it left a warmth embedded into his nerves and Akira forced himself to blink for a momentary reprieve as Amanome finished his sentence.

“... I have absolutely no doubt that you will win, Akira.”

While there was conviction in his statement, the way Amanome’s voice carried such softness in its tone left Akira’s mind sparkling, staring at his companion with an unchanging expression while he attempted to catch up to speed. Once he felt like he was on stable footing, he hummed as he turned away from Amanome to glance at another door on the other end of the locker room. No doubt that would lead to where he ultimately needed to go, thus he picked up his school bag and placed it in the closest locker to him before turning back to Amanome.

“If you’re so confident in me, then let’s stop wasting time already. Otherwise I’m leaving.”

Amanome’s laugh was familiar, one that he forced out as opposed to the rare, earnest laughter that Akira had heard only a handful of times. He had quickly learned to ignore the difference, never even bothering to question it as Amanome uncrossed his arms and pushed himself away from the door frame he was leaning against. Walking past Akira towards the door on the opposite end of the locker room, Akira followed suit without another word. Amanome pushed open the heavy metal door and Akira’s ears were assaulted with the onslaught of cheers, screams and the banging of shoes against the metal stands that surrounded them on all sides. The short hallway they’d walked into was dark yet there was a blindingly bright light coming from a large opening on the other end of it.

Akira followed Amanome wordlessly, noticing minutely that as they approached the end of the dark hall, Amanome’s back straightened, placing his hands in his pockets in a display that was meant to exude a cool air of calm and confidence. Akira didn’t even need to ask what the dramatic change in his demeanor was for as when the two of them emerged from the hallway into a packed stadium, the cheers and screams reached a new pitch and Amanome’s name was shrieked out among the crowd in arrhythmic euphoria. Akira took a look around him at the stadium they’d walked into, squinting at the blinding stage lights that lit up the place. It seemed like every seat was full, hundreds of spectators in every row and Akira wondered if this is what Amanome had meant when he talked about how popular the UG Matches were. It seemed almost professional for something deemed illegal.

Turning his attention from the stands full of screaming patrons, Akira took a look at the main attraction. A ring that reminded him of a boxing ring stood proud in the center of the arena, surrounded by tall standing netting and coloured ropes circling around the ring tied to metal posts covered with old padding. Musing to himself, Akira assumed that the netting and rope was no doubt in place to keep the fans outside of the ring and the participants inside of it.

As the same as any official match to fighting sports, there was a man standing in the center of the ring who seemed to be officiating the matches. However, this man was rather well dressed in a suit and tie as opposed to a referee uniform. Holding a microphone in his hand, the man met eyes with Amanome yet didn’t say anything as the crowd’s cheering grew in intensity. Once the screams had reached a fever pitch, the man drew in a breath before extending an arm calmly towards Amanome. His voice was deep as he spoke into the microphone, a tone that reverberated throughout the arena and drew the attention of everyone in the stadium.

“At last, the moment is here. The promised participant that you all longed for, sponsored by the esteemed Amanome Seiji himself.”

Among the roar of excited shouts, Akira grabbed Amanaome’s shoulder and yanked him hard, forcing him to turn to face him. Amanome’s face was calm while Akira’s brows were furrowed and a harsh scowl was glued to his lips.

“Hey, what the hell’s going on? What does he mean by that?”

Amanome was quiet for a moment before reaching and putting his hand over Akira’s. While Akira’s grip on Amanome’s shoulder was still stiff and rough, Amanone’s touch was gentle and almost… Careful.

“Listen, Akira. You may have made the decision to join the UG Matches on a whim tonight… But I’ve been ready for this for a while now. I know that you despise the use of my name but it would have been impossible for you to join without some sort of backing and no one can even try to fight it when it’s the very family that created these matches to begin with.”

Akira listened without a word, kept his grip tight on Amanome’s shoulder, and he knew that Amanome wasn’t throwing his pride around at that moment. His eyes were dim and his voice cautious, signs of an apology on his tongue that he knew Akira didn’t want to hear. Simply an explanation and nothing more and Akira took that for what it was, releasing Amanome’s shoulder and shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes remained focused on the well dressed man in the ring, not looking at Amanome despite how he felt his eyes on him.

“I just need to win, right?”

He’d repeated this question again, more for himself than anything, turning it into a mantra he could engrave into his fists. Beside him in his peripheral vision, Amanome nodded.

“No killing.”

Akira hummed, committing it to memory as he closed his eyes.

And then he smiled.

With a driving focus, Akira’s eyes opened and he began walking towards the ring, unshaken confidence laxing his shoulders as he climbed into the ring to come face to face with the well dressed officiator. The man remained calm, a welcoming but firm smile on his lips as he nodded at Akira and gave his welcome.

“We’ve been looking forward to you coming, Kijima Akira.”

“That so.”

“Why yes, we hope you’ll put on a good performance for this eager crowd.”

Akira’s eyebrow twitched, rolling his shoulders before looking away.

“Then keep looking. I’m not here to be a showman or some damn performance puppet.”

The man chuckled, unscathed by Akira’s seething words.

“Of course, of course. You’re here to win. Prove that you can, Kijima. Everyone here has their eyes on you.”

Akira straightened his back, keeping his hands in his pockets as he turned to look at the man, finding that calm smile just a bit unnerving.

“If you’re trying to phase me, it’s not working. Who even are you?”

The man nodded, stepping closer to Akira and offering his hand.

“Amanome Yorihiko, the officiator of the UG Matches and a member of the Amanome family. I’ve heard much about you, Kijima.”

There were too many members of this damn family, Akira decided that long ago, but he decided not to antagonize the man and shook his waiting hand. Yorihiko appeared pleased with the exchange, pulling his hand away and walking a few steps away from him.

“Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get to the main event, shall we? Our newcomer, Kijima, will be facing a local favourite. Once a pro athlete and champion, you all know him quite well. Let’s all welcome him warmly.”

The name was lost to Akira, drowning it out amongst the crowd’s screams. He didn’t care to learn the names of his opponents, finding it unnecessary and even when he was faced with a rather burly hulk of a man talking nonsensical insults down at him once he had entered the ring, Akira merely stared at him without saying a word.

Yorihiko stepped up in between them after a moment, that calm smile on his face as present as always and his voice was well composed without any shift in his tone.

“Now then, same rules apply as always, but I’ll go over them for Kijima. Though, they’re quite simple, really. First opponent knocked unconscious loses. No deaths permitted, excessive violence is to be judged. If you bleed, then that’s on you. Understood?”

The man scoffed haughtily, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“If a punk kid who thinks he can match up to adults just because he has a good sponsorship, I’d sure as hell hope he’d know the damn rules.”

Ah, so this was one of those types. Full of himself and drunk off his ego. Any part of Akira that would have taken this fight seriously relaxed immediately, the stiffness in his shoulders melting away comfortably. This would be an easy win, if not a disappointing one. A quick glance over of the man already told Akira more than he needed to know. He was heavy on the upper body and reliant on forcing his opponent to the ground. So long as Akira stayed out of his reach, the guy had no chance. An easy enough task, yet the fact that he had a rather long win streak left Akira just a bit curious about whatever method the lug used to gain the upper hand. In the back of his head, Akira made a mental note to never stay too close to him for longer than he had to.

Quick punches, kicks to where they counted, and then move.

Waiting for Yorihiko to announce the beginning of the match, Akira and the boisterous annoyance that was his opponent waited for him to step out of the way before Akira caught movement far too quickly and he stepped back to avoid large arms grabbing hold of his waist. Twisting to the side, Akira kept a close watch on the man’s movements as he tumbled forward in every attempt to grab hold of Akira in some form in order to pull him down. Akira kept his footwork light, turning around with an odd grace in his steps to where he was behind the lugging oaf, striking him hard behind the knees to knock off his center of gravity and sent him tumbling. The man let out a rough groan as he hit the mat, the screams of the crowd drowning out the sound of him colliding with the floor and Akira only had a moment to hit the back of the man’s neck before he could rise to his feet. The man choked out a breathless sound, the wind being knocked from his lungs when Akira struck the nerve.

Akira watched as the man writhed to stabilize himself and began to push himself up onto his knees and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Amanome standing by the ring. In his peripheral vision, Akira noticed that Amanome hadn’t moved at all. Allowing himself a quick glance, Akira’s eyes traveled to where his self proclaimed best friend stood motionless, meeting his gaze.

Amanome stared.

The expression on his face was enthralling, striking Akira hard in the split second he allowed before breaking eye contact to look back at his sham of an opponent. Amanome’s face, however, stuck in his mind and it spurred Akira in his steps. He moved faster, hit harder when the bulk of a man who staggered on wobbling legs had finally risen. His desire to pull out the length of the fight was lost in the way he remembered the softness of Amanome’s eyes as they stayed on him as if unable to even try to look elsewhere when Akira moved, the glint of the harsh spotlights in the stadium dimming and turning those rich dark chocolate brown eyes of his into molten gold. As Akira dodged every bumbling attempt the man made to strike him even once, blocking blow after blow before kneeing him square in the chest and hearing a sharp crack upon the contact, his mind was distracted.

The taste of Amanome’s stare stuck to the back of his throat.

It was almost infuriating how he had the sight of Amanome now engraved into his mind and Akira had to wonder why Amanome’s face seemed almost tinted with a soft dusting of pink on his temples. The confusion made Akira’s blood boil, driving each blow he delivered to the haughty athlete in front of him to become harder and more consistent.

Unable to be blocked, Akira felt lightning burn in his veins as revelations became clearer to him the more the fight progressed. The anger he’d held onto for so long that reached its breaking point, the screams of the crowd, the freedom he felt with each strike of his fist or each blow of his knee, the hurt and betrayal from his mother that he thought he could ignore, the crushing weight of obligation to his aunt and his young niece... Amanome’s unwavering stare…

All of it crashed into Akira at once and when he bounced on the balls of his feet as the towering bulk of trash he was facing came blundering towards him in a final desperation to gain the upper hand, Akira dove forward with a shout, ducking beneath the man’s arms as they extended out to try and grab him before reeling back and elbowing him square in the chest where he’d hit him previously before shoving his hand up to jab his palm against the man’s chin in one swift, powerful motion. Hearing the sound of the snap and watching as the man swayed, Akira rolled back just as his pathetic excuse of an opponent came crashing to the floor.

Rising to his feet, Akira stared at the man in curiosity to see if he would get up again, yet after waiting a moment or two with no signs of movement from the unconscious heap, the arena that had been silent and waiting with bated breath erupted into ear splitting screams and Akira released a shaky exhale. He minutely noticed that he had been trembling and sweating, gasping for air as he felt the exhilarating rush of freedom course through every nerve ending after realising that he had indeed won his first UG Match. His chest heaved, a broken sound in his throat and he laughed.

He felt entirely new, his jaw aching from the grin that stuck to his lips.

Turning his gaze away from the mess of a man he’d made on the floor, his eyes met Amanome’s.

That stare. That expression.

The way Amanome never broke his eyes away from Akira’s.

Akira wanted to see it every time.


End file.
